Trading Yesterday
by Gosangoku
Summary: He's just a lower class teen with a love for filmmaking and photography and running from his problems. Too bad they've caught up with him. Too bad they've forgotton him... — US/UK.
1. Take one!

_Yesterday I died; tomorrow's bleeding.  
Fall into your sunlight._

- Trading Yesterday__

**O-o-O-o-O**

No sunlight could infiltrate the room, all sources of light being blocked off by blinds and cardboard stuck against the dirty windows. The room was dark with a rather gloomy atmosphere. The slight red hue emitted from the lava lamp seemed to heat the place up a bit, in spite of the broken radiator. There was a plastic bowl in the middle of the floor on a very old and very worn umber carpet with five inches of water piling up as a constant _drip_, _drip_, _drip_ fell from the damp ceiling. Curled up like a chilly kitten, a boy lied not-so-snugly on top of a stained mattress with only a blanket full of holes to ward off the cold. Beside him, an innocent scratched Nokia began blasting out his ring tone.

"_Everything about you is how I wanna be. Your freedom comes naturally._"

The boy entangled in his thin sheets only shifted at firsts, his eyelids flickering spasmodically, before he just moaned feebly and rolled over. If anything, with his returning consciousness came his heightened sense of hearing. He groaned loudly and raised his blanket over his face as a pathetic attempt to block the noise. Why did he set his ring tone on the loudest volume? He still wondered how he had such impeccable hearing after all of the defeaning music he submitted his poor ears to.

"_Everything about you resonates happiness. Now I won't settle for less._"

"Fuck," he hissed irritably, shoving his itchy covers off angrily and grabbing his flimsy phone. He clicked a button and held it up to his assaulted ear. "This is Arthur Kirkland. If you're a French wino wanker, please hang the phone and yourself. If you're a certain German albino, then no, I do not wish to go drinking with you at present as I am already suffering the after effects of a mother fucking hangover. If your two friends have given you my number, Antonio, don't think of trying to extract revenge on me right now or your intestines will be splattered over the floor along with your precious tomatoes. Anyone else, how may I help you?" he ranted furiously, whilst still somehow managing to maintain a fairly calm tone. He rubbed his forehead idly as he scanned his pathetic excuse for a room for any pain killers.

"Hi, Arthur," a bubbly but mildly annoyed voice replied, accustomed to his not-quite-friendly greeting.

"Oh, Michelle," he murmured sleepily in response as he heaved himself up and stretched, wincing when his sore shoulder sent a flash of pain up his arm. _I knew I shouldn't have played rugby last week_, he thought irritably, sighing in aggravation. _Oh well_, he thought idly as he rifled through his messy pile of clothes, _What's done is done_. "What do you want?" he asked, manoeuvring himself into one of his oversized blouses and buttoning it up with one hand.

"Oh, what a lovely way to speak to a girl," Michelle drawled.

Arthur rolled his eyes as he pulled on a new pair of boxers. "Whatever," he grumbled, now scouring the room for his trousers. "Spit it out, or I'll just hang up on you."

"Don't you always?" she replied huffily. "Anyway," she said, voice becoming jubilant again. Arthur was always perplexed over her behaviour. She easily brushed off any irritation and was often acting giddy even around people she disliked. Or hated. _Like me_. "I was out last night..."

"This isn't a girly rant regarding frivolous escapades in shopping for new attire and shoes, or something about eloping with a new tall, dark and handsome prat you spotted hanging outside of a train station, is it?" the blond piped up, not wanting to hear about the things his classmate got up to when he wasn't around.

"Oh, hush," she admonished, but she was giggling to herself. "Not this time. Sweetheart," she said in amusement, and Arthur felt himself blush at that. After their twelve years of friendship, he still wasn't used to her pet names. "If I wanted to talk about that kind of thing, I'd force you to come out with me. You're like the gay best friend every girl wants!" she declared brightly.

The Brit scoffed, yanking his black trousers over his plain boxers and zipping them up. He glanced in his dirty, half broken mirror and glared at his reflection. _Why the fuck do I always look like crap?_ "I'm not gay, Michelle," he said with a huffy sigh. "I'm--"

"Bi, yeah, I know," she interrupted. Rather rudely, Arthur thought in annoyance. "Whatever. _Anyway_," she repeated, "I was out last night, yeah, and when I passed by this little club or something, I saw a poster..."

"Oh, cor blimey," Arthur gasped, feigning astonishment. "That's bloody amazing! I've never seen one of _those _before! Thank you oh so very much, Captain Obvious!"

"You're most welcome, Leiutenant Sarcastic," Michelle chirped, unperturbed by her unruly friend's cynical words. "_As I was saying_," she stressed, emphasising every word unnecessarily, "The poster's about a competition - and before you interrupt me with one of your disbelieving, anal, gay arse speeches," she continued, and Arthur's brow twitched as he ran a hand through his newly dyed black hair. "It's totally your thing--"

"Please don't say totally. It hurts my soul."

"You don't have a soul," she replied with a long-suffering sigh. "You sold it to me when we were ten. I still have the paper to proved it. It's so cute, by the way," she said, getting off topic. "You signed it with a scribble and drew a puppy. How adorable! Why did you have to change?"

"You're driving a dagger through my black heart," the English boy retorted monotonously, shoving his black fringe to one side of his face. _Maybe I could buy dark brown contact lenses. My green eyes don't suit black hair_, he pondered, turning his head to flick some stray hair out of his face. He shrugged nonchalantly and grabbed his black satchel bag, decorated in badges of different sizes with many different logos and phrases on. Some only for eighteen plus rated audiences, such as a few revolving around sex, drugs, rock and roll and COD.

"Oh, cheer up, emo kid." Arthur rolled his eyes at her overused retort. She always called him that. He wasn't emo. He just liked the style.

"Labels are for soup cans, Miss Liberal," he murmured in response, examining his bitten fingernails. He slipped his bag over his unharmed shoulder, the right one, and stuck his cold feet into his black Converse sneakers. He jiggled the door knob, scowling and twitching in irritation when it wouldn't open. "Aw, fuck," he cursed.

"What?" Michelle asked, pausing in her retort for Arthur's previous comment.

"My door's stuck again. I think maybe Lizzy tries to board up my door from the other side," he murmured thoughtfully, giving the dirty door a sharp kick, only to cringe and curse like a sailor. "Oh, bloody fucking _hell_," he hissed, lifting his stinging foot off of the floor and hopping around. "That fucking _hurts_."

"Don't kick your door then, ya eejit. Climb out your window like you always do. I'm waiting outside to escort you to school," she replied, tone carefree and upbeat in spite of her friend's agonising pain.

"Oh, how fucking thoughtful. I'm not a bleeding chick, Michelle," he grumbled sulkily, and then hung up on her. He stuffed his old phone into his trouser pocket and then glanced around to look for the key to the window. "Where the fuck could it've gone?" he murmured, falling to his knees to examine the floor, tossing his dirty clothes everywhere and kicking away mix tapes and CDs. "Shit," he muttered. He stood on his knees and yanked open one of his beside drawers, shoving his random pokémon merchandise out of the way and pausing briefly when he saw a Tamagotchi. "Man, that's so old," he mused out loud, but didn't toss it aside carelessly. Instead, after glancing around embarrassedly as if he were being watched, he slipped it into his bag, face heating up. Clearing his throat, he shoved the drawer closed and pulled another one open, now digging through the contents more carefully. "Aha!" he declared triumphantly, smirking as he grabbed a tiny silver key. "Thought you could get away did you, you little blighter?"

Standing, he jogged over to the window and shoved the miniscule key into the rusty old lock. It took a few good tries for it to twist properly, but eventually Arthur heard the lock click. He pocketed the key and pushed the window. _Aw, come on_, he thought irritably, _Don't tell me this is stuck too! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..._ he inwardly ranted as he shoved the window harshly. He growled angrily before stepping back a few paces in his small room, and charging at the window. It didn't shatter, luckily, and just flew open, sending the disorientated Brit into a pile of aching limbs on the scaffolding. He groaned weakly, blinking his eyes open and moaning again when the sun blinded him. Well, that hurt like fuck.

"Aaaarthuuuur!" a voice screeched impatiently, and the currently-dark-haired Brit rolled onto his stomach to see a frowning Michelle scowling up at him, her tanned arms folded over her jumper, her blazer hung over her shoulders. "What's the hold up? Take your fucking time, why don't you?" she shouted.

"I shall," he called back, rolling onto his back again. "I think I'll sunbathe. I want a tan," he decided, stretching out like a pleased cat.

"Don't take the piss!" she screamed angrily, briefly pausing in her furious tirade to shove a pigtail out of her way. "Come on, you plonker," she shouted, "It's windy as hell and, knowing England, it'll probably piss it down any minute now. So, get your pale white gay arse down here so we can get to school before we get drenched." She paused, and a sly, feline-like smirk coming to her face as he turned away, her nose in the air imperiously, a habit she'd got off of Arthur. "At least I have a jumper and blazer," she murmured complacently, "You're dressed in nothing but a thin white blouse. Rape material, me thinks."

Soon enough, she heard cursing and _dings_ of Converse sneakers hitting metal poles and scaffolding and her friend zipped down speedily. She turned around to grin innocently at her flushed friend. "Only you would think that," Arthur hissed quietly, blush deepening as he _subtly_ folded his arms across his chest. Michelle had to repress a giggle at his feminine habit. "No one is going to jump my bloody _pale_ _white_ _gay_ arse."

"You are _such_ a girl," she declared, jumping onto a small wall and walking along it as her friend scuffled along beside her. She stuck her arms out for balance and concentrated on where her feet were, although she didn't need to. She was a rather good gymnast, especially with her frequent ice skating lessons.

"No, I'm not. Shut up," Arthur mumbled sulkily, arms still folded tightly across his chest.

"Great comeback, Artie."

"Don't call me Artie."

"But it's so cute!"

"I'm not cute."

"Well, your personality sure ain't."

"It's _isn't_, not 'ain't'. 'Ain't' _isn't_ a word."

"As if you're so proper," Michelle returned, sticking her tongue out childishly as she jumped off of the small wall, landing in her dolly shoes in front of an irritated-looking English boy. "Mr. I-Still-Have-A-Hangover." Arthur opened his mouth to defend himself, but the foreign girl had already become distracted courtesy of her attention deficit disorder that Arthur was _sure_ she had. "Come on," she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him across the road, "I want to buy a Yorkie."

"Oh, you're such a rebel. No women allowed, remember?" the Brit drawled uncaringly, letting the stupid girl lead him into a secluded sole trader shop. He nodded at the man on the till, and then stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed his friend to the chocolate and sweets section.

"Fuck off," she replied happily, grabbing a Yorkie bar and a can of coke. She tossed a bag of Skittles and another can of coke to the Brit, who caught them easily. They approached the till and slammed their usual choices on the counter.

"You know they probably did that just so loads of women would go out and buy it as a form of protest? It was most likely just a marketing strategy to make more money," he informed her, grabbing his wallet covered in Pon and Zi stickers to slam a fiver in the Indian man's hand. Michelle handed him the correct amount of change exactly and grabbed her items, grinning greedily as Arthur received his change. He thanked the man as they departed from the small shop, immediately cracking open their treats and drowning in the unhealthy sugar.

"Artie, you're no fun," she said with a dramatic sigh, taking a big bite of her Yorkie bar as she put her coke can in her bag. Arthur did the opposite, sticking his skittles in his bag and cracking open his can of coke.

"I do try," he replied as they crossed the road again, Arthur flashing a v sign at a driver who almost ploughed into them. "We're so suicidal."

"Awesome." Michelle grinned impishly, taking another bite as he strode along the pavement, taking their walk as slowly as usual. They were always late, but they just couldn't bring themselves to care. Even though they got lovely rants and lectures from teachers, as well as those lovely papers known as detention slips and sanctions. **(1)**

Arthur jumped in shock when he heard defeaning sirens screeching, and then a police car whizzed past at a blinding speed. He scowled and blushed when he heard Michelle laughing at him, doubling over and nearly dropping her Yorkie bar in the process. "What's so funny?" he grumbled moodily.

"You!" she squealed, laughing harder and closing her eyes as she gasped for oxygen in between her large emissions of carbon dioxide. **(2)**

Arthur glared at his friend before smirking. He lunged forward and grabbed her Yorkie bar. Stuffing it in his mouth, he began rushing ahead. His smirk widened into a grin when he heard her screech of fury. "That's what you get, you bleeding bint!" he cried back as his legs carried him forwards speedily.

"No fair!" she whined from behind him, running behind him, but not fast enough to catch up to the runner. "You run track! Not _faiiir_! _Arthuuur_!"

The English boy just laughed out loud at her predicament, speeding up even more just to piss her off. His trainers screeched against the pavement as he glided along, legs pumping furiously and heart beating happily in his chest--

"Fuck!" two voices chorused at once when Arthur collided painfully with a _brick wall_ of some sort and fell backwards for the second time that day. He cursed up a storm, grabbing the back of his head and cringing. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! My head!_

"Shit, dude, are you okay?"

"Do I _look_ fucking _okay_ to you, you bleeding wanker?" he screamed in response, and instantly regretted it when waves of agony resonated through his skull and worsened his previous hangover.

"Damn, I'm sorry! I didn't expect someone to run into me like that. I mean, I know I'm hot 'n' all, but..."

"Fuck off!" Arthur replied eloquently, words slurring a bit as his mind was focusing primarily upon the seering pain shooting through his head.

"Ah! Artie, are you okay?" Michelle's breathless voice asked worriedly, slicing through his painful head.

Wincing, the Brit glanced up at her, blinking repeatedly when he saw two of her. "Uh," he replied, suddenly feeling a bit nauseous. "I'm not sure."

Michelle looked a bit worried. "You've turned pale... Paler than before," she murmured, concern seeping into her voice. "Come on, I'll drag your sorry arse to the medical room, okay?" she offered kindly, offering her friend a hand.

Arthur slapped it away and pulled himself up, swaying slightly. The prick he ran into held out his arms and grasped his shoulders - _ow! Fuck, not the fucking left one!_ - to steady him. "Hey, lemme go with ya. I mean, I feel kinda responsible..."

"So you should," Arthur snapped with a weak, but still as poisonous as ever glare.

"To be fair, Artie, _you_ ran into him," his friend supplied helpfully, and he shot her his dark glower, but it looked like more of a grimace. "Come on, you moron, let's go to see the nurse..."

"I'll go with ya," the git said again, and Arthur finally looked up at him when he heard the American accent. He blinked, green eyes suddenly wide as he took in the messy honey blond hair and bright azure eyes... _No way_, he thought waveringly, trying desperately to look away from the familiar blue eyes but finding himself stuck. _That's just... not possible_, he told himself, suddenly feeling weak as Michelle and Mr. Blue Eyes began steering him towards the school gates after a brief introduction. _It's impossible... isn't it...?_

The blond boy blinked at him, realising he'd been staring, and shot him a reassurring grin and a few words that went in one ear and out the other.

_He can't be him..._

**O-o-O-o-O**

_**Axis Powers Hetalia **_**belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**Since I seem to be a suicidal prat, I've decided to start yet another chapter story for APH. I know, it's insane... but I resisted for as long as I could. It's weird how I get the ideas. I was just looking at photography, and it started a long thought path that somehow eventually spurred me onto write this. But hey, no worries. It isn't your typical high school AU. It's going to face some key issues and stuff, such as cliques, labels, sexualities, pasts, class (i.e. wealth and income), bullying, neglect, and things such as that~**

**It's set in England, just because I myself reside in England and it'll just be easier and more accurate that way. So, a lot of things in here will be set in England, mostly London, and as such all insults are English as well. **_**By the way**__**, here's news for you**_**: We don't say "bloody" and/or "git" in every bloody sentence, you gits. No, but seriously, we have a handful of various other insults and curse words. A lot of us do say "fuck" an awful lot, hence Arthur's lovely continuous cursing all throughout.**

**Why is Seychelles Iggy's best friend? No idea, it just ended up that way. I know she kind of dislikes him due to his bad personality, but I figured that she'd grow used to his tsuntsun and eventually grow to like the bad tempered little twat. Besides, kids tease the one they like~! But yeah, they're just BFFs in this. Even though Arthur acts like he doesn't like anyone. You know how he is though.**

**(1) I'm not sure if this is used in other countries, so I'll educate you guys just in case you've not heard of it. If you do get these, my bad. Anyway, sanctions are slips of paper that are kind of like warnings. You get these if you don't do homework, classwork, or for bad punctuality or behaviour. In my school - and this doesn't cover all schools in the UK - if you receive three or more sanctions, you get a detention and go on report. But I'm a good boy and never got one. -**_**Beams angelically**_**- -**_**smirks**_**-**

**(2) Little science lesson for you. We breathe in oxygen (well, mostly...) and breathe out carbon dioxide. If we didn't have trees to breathe in our CO2 (carbon dioxide) and emit O2 (oxygen), we'd be dead. Go hug a tree now. Be grateful. Punks.**

**Questions I may be subjected to in reviews (or... cursed at for...):**

_**Why is Arthur emo?**_

**He isn't. Like he said, he just likes the style. XD Nah, but... most guys I see (this is just me personally) in London, at least teenage ones, seem to often have "emo" hair, skinny jeans, Converse trainers and cardigans. Maybe I have selective vision. XD; But yeah, I just thought temporary "emo" hair for Iggy would be kind of cool. Besides, I want to make 'Merika do something when his black hair turns blond again. -**_**fluff sucker**_**-**

_**What's a Tamagotchi?**_

**It's a little circular device in which there's a robotic little animal-type thing. You feed it, clean it, and help it grow by playing games to earn money and buy it food. There was a **_**huuuge**_** craze over these things when I was in primary school. Following that was Crazy Bones and gooey aliens that supposedly gave birth. It was a lie, a lie I tell you! Also, Pokémon, Yu-Gi-Oh and footie ("soccer") were always popular.**

_**Why does Arthur's place suck?**_

**He's a lower-class teen in this fic. He works on weekends to rent a room in some tiny apartment in front of a road. Most houses here in London are in front of roads, trains or just somewhere noisy. Don't like city areas? Go to Somerset or Wales, it's pretty quiet and kind of rural there. But anyway, yeah, Artie lives in a pathetic, damp, dull apartment with an old woman I so creatively named Lizzy. She's not his grandmother though. She's just the woman who owns the place and lets him rent a room. She owns a cat called Biscuit, but he's pretty much Arthur's cat too. Sorry, I just adore cats. XD;**

**I think that's all I need to cover, but if you have any other enquiries, feel free to ask. I do try to reply to reviews, but I'm having trouble with it. I'm really sorry. However, you can rest assured that I do read all of them over and over again because I'm a very sad person.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	2. Take Two!

_The future's open wide beyond believing  
To know why hope dies._

- Trading Yesterday

_  
_**O-o-O-o-O**

"Luckily, you don't appear to have concussion, Mr. Kirkland," the nurse said offhandedly, offering the Brit a faux kind smile. "I think you're safe to go back to class, but be careful. If you get dizzy, just tell your teacher what happened and come back here." Usually, students' parents were consulted when something like this happened, but a select few teachers were aware of Arthur's situation.

"Thanks," Arthur muttered, sliding off of the table and onto the floor. He looked around the room wearily. "Where's my bag?" he murmured, frowning suspiciously at the nurse.

She shrugged. "Don't look at me," she said. "That American boy carried it." She raised a brow, actually managing to look concerned. "You don't remember...?"

The Brit waved a hand nonchalantly. "Forget it," he mumbled. "I'm not dying or anything, so there's no need for concern," he drawled, attempting to repress a disbelieving scoff at the absolutely idiotic idea.

"Well, it's not my fault if you die," she insisted, holding up her hands.

"Not to worry," he mumbled uncaringly, sticking his hands in his pockets and giving her a look of nonchalance. "No one would really give a shit, so you'd be safe." He turned swiftly on his heel, missing the rueful look she had cast him, and sent her a small wave before shoving his hand back in his pocket. "Later."

"Take care, Mr. Kirkland..."

Arthur turned to her and rolled his eyes impatiently at her concern, but when he faced away from her again, his shoulders slumped slightly. _Stupid_, he thought. _She doesn't really care_. "Yeah, yeah," he whispered softly, and shuffled out of the room. The door clicked shut softly behind him and he leaned against it, closing his eyes as he felt a wave of lethargy come over him. He just wanted to be boarded up in his pathetic little room and sleep all of his troubles away. _As if that would work_, he thought cynically, brows contorting into a frown. _Drinking sure doesn't..._

"Ah! Arthur!"

The addressed boy's eyes flew open and he turned to his left, seeing Michelle smiling and waving at him. "Oh, Michelle," he breathed. At her befuddled look, he hastened to add, "Where the hell is my bag?" She frowned at him, still looking inquistive and concerned, but didn't breach the subject instantly. She forced a smile onto her face.

"Tsk, I see that blow to the head didn't knock any sense into you," she said, hands on her hips as she gave a long-suffering sigh. She received a grumpy scowl in response, and grinned apologetically. "Sorry, sorry. The American guy has it..." She turned back around, blinking in surprise at the empty hallway. "What the hell? He was right behind me a second ago!"

"Bleeding yank!" Arthur hissed angrily, dragging his hands out of his pockets and clenching his fists. "Fucking wanker! I'm gonna kill him," he stated furiously, casting a poisonous look to Michelle. "You go look for him the way you came, and I'll go the other way. He can _not_ have my bag."

The girl raised a brow. "What do you have in there? You aren't being a naughty boy, are you, Artie?" She grinned a perverse grin that made Arthur both blush and thirst for blood.

"_No_, you bleeding _cow_," he muttered lowly, green eyes flashing. "My school books, filmscripts, notebook and _camera_ are all in there though!"

Her eyes widened and she bit her lip worriedly. "Oh, right. Shit, Art, I'm sorry. I..."

"It's fine, whatever," he said abruptly, waving his hand dismissively. "Just go!" he ordered, and she nodded quickly and sprinted down the hallway. Scoffing in irritation, Arthur spun around, prepared to launch in the opposite direction like a firework gone wrong, only to immediately get a face full of leather. He stumbled back, only for his wrist to be caught. He sputtered angrily and pulled back, clutching his wrist to his chest and opening his mouth to shout a furious lecture, only for someone to beat him to the punch. Huh, that was a first.

"Sorry! It seems running into each other is a habit, huh?"

Arthur froze. The voice sounded suspiciously American. So obnoxious and-and arrogant, and... American.

"F-fuck off, you bleeding wanker," he muttered feebly. His throat felt dry. He swallowed thickly, lowering his gaze to stare at his mismatched neon laces. _Keep your breathing level. In through the nose, out through the mouth... Don't panic. Just breathe..._ "Give me my fucking bag," he ordered, trying to force an imperious tone into his voice as he lunged forward for the badge-covered bag the stupid American was holding. He faltered when it was held out of his reach before clenching his fists even tighter than before and glowering furiously at the floor, trembling in what he hoped was rage.

"Jeez, you're so impolite! You could say _please_, ya know."

_He is nothing like the person I once knew, and so... He can't be him! It's impossible. Honestly, Arthur, don't be so stupid..._ He swallowed and raised his gaze determinedly, and then faltered again immediately upon looking straight into piercing blue eyes. He blinked rapidly and then shook his head, as if attempting to abandon certain thoughts from seeping into his mind. "_You_ are the one who is impolite! Stealing my bag like that!" he scoffed, folding his arms and looking at the wall to his right. Those eyes were just... "You tosser," he hissed, venom tainting his tone, "I could fucking report you for that. So, give it here," he ordered impatiently, holding out a hand stiffly.

"Whoa, hold up," the git said, sounding affronted. As if he had the right! "I didn't _steal_ it! I held it whilst waiting for you to get outta the infirmary!" he insisted defensively.

"Whatever. I don't care. Give it back," Arthur demanded, a scowl firmly in place even though he wasn't looking into his face.

"Jeez... You're such a brat."

The Brit froze, blood turning cold, and for a moment time stopped. His eyes widened and he looked up sharply into annoyed blue eyes.

_"Artieee! Why won't you play with me? Mummy said you have to play with me!"_

_The older boy whirled around angrily, emerald eyes blazing dangerously. "You're so annoying... I don't like your mother, alright? She isn't my mum! You aren't my brother!" he screamed furiously, and then turned on his heel and stormed off._

_"B-but... Artie... I want to be your friend..."_

_Arthur stopped. Silence took over the area, and the only sound was that of the trees rustling in the gentle breeze. He swallowed nervously, hunching his shoulders and sticking his fists in his pockets. "Don't be stupid," he whispered. "A-as if I'd be friends with you. You're such a brat!"_

He felt a huge bubble of rage inside of him burst. He slowly extracted his fists from his pockets and held them tightly at his eyes, glaring darkly. "What?" he hissed dangerously, eyes glinting as he drew back a fist slowly.

The American's brow furrowed and he held his hands up again, blinking in bewilderment when the smaller boy seemed to grow even more defensive about it. He lowered his hands and, frowning, he murmured, "You don't need to get so mad about it. Look, here, I'll give it back..." He held it out slowly, as if afraid the Brit would do something drastic.

As if sensing the taller boy's hesitation and care, Arthur seemed to become more wrathful. "I'm not a fucking animal," he snarled poisonously, lashing out to grab his bag. Despite his speed, the idiot managed to rival it and held it above his head just as his fingertips brushed over the fabric. Green eyes widened in shock, before narrowing in fury, and his cheeks heated up in embarrassment. "Give it back!"

"I don't think I should," the tosser replied obnoxiously, lips twitching into a smug smirk as he waved the bag out of Arthur's reach tauntingly. "You've been kinda rude to me, even after I went to the trouble of carryin' ya here and looking after your bag." He tilted his head and gave a mock pout, but his eyes were dancing in amusement. "My feelings are hurt," he said with a pathetic sniffle.

Arthur let a menacing growl slip past his lips, shoulders shaking as his fury grew. "Give. It. Back," he whispered threateningly.

"Hmm..." The bastard pretended to ponder for a moment, frowning seriously and holding his free hand to his chin, before grinning impishly. "No!" he decided, and then laughed merrily as he turned around and blasted down the empty hallway like a rocket.

The pale boy blanched for a moment, mouth agape and eyes wide and confused. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, wondering how the bloody fucking hell the guy ran so fast... and then shot off. He sped down the hallway after the twat, his Converse trainers squeaking against the dirty floors as his legs pumped furiously. "Stop, you fucking tosser!" he shouted after the wanker, who had the bleeding _audacity_ to turn his head, stick his tongue out and give him the finger. Arthur growled again and decided to up his game. _Sprinting time_, he decided, steeling himself as he clenched his eyes shut and forced his legs to move faster and faster and-- "Give it back!"

The American's eyes widened, evidently shocked that the smaller boy had managed to catch up to him, before flashing a foxy grin and breathlessly whispered, "No way," and sped up himself.

Arthur gaped in astonishment, which soon gave way to aggravation. He let out a roar of annoyance and screamed angrily, "You fucking bastard! Give back my bag, you bleeding _git_!" _I've got to catch up to him!_ he thought, willing himself to move quickly. He could feel the revurberations of his feet colliding with the hard floor as he swiftly sprinted, attempting to catch up with the fucking bastard. He looked up sharply as he sucked in a breath, wanting to know how far ahead the twat was - and his eyes widened as he tried to hasten his pace. "Wait! Stop! You're going too fucking fast!"

"No way! I'm not slowing down! You can't trick me!"

Stupid bloody fucking childish _moron_! "No, you fucking idiot! You're going too fast! You won't be able to fucking _turn_!" he screamed in frustration, gritting his teeth when the stupid yank seemed to falter. "You idiot!" he yelled again, legs thrashing wildly as he dashed speedily, gasping for breath as he finally managed to reach the stupid American's pace, the pure boost of adrenaline coursing through his veins spurring him on--

_"A-Artie! You're running way too fast! I can't keep up! Stop, Artie...!"_

_"No way, idiot! You can't stop! You can never stop or they'll catch you!"_

_"W-who? There's no one there, Artie! Please stop! Ah--! Ow! A-Artie...!"_

"Alfred!"

_Bang!_

He heard a dull thud as he hit the ground, and he barely restrained himself from letting a moan of pain slip past his lips as he jostled his painful shoulder. _I... I'd better not have a fucking concussion or something..._ he thought, feeling the bubbles of rage inside of him slowly die down, and instead were replaced with a strange lightheaded feeling that left him weary...

"Ah... Fuck..."

And then that bleeding voice sliced through his calm reverie once again and he tensed. He sucked in a sharp breath and kept his eyes clenched shut as his chest heaved up and down. He heard the American gasping for breath greedily above him, and felt the emissions of his warm breath dancing over his skin. _Get off_, he thought desperately, swallowing painfully. _Get off. Get off of me. Get off of me!_

"Are you okay?"

_Get off_, he wanted to say. But his mouth refused to open, and he wouldn't open his eyes. He wouldn't... couldn't face those stupid, innocent, naive, unknowing blue eyes...

"H-hey, man, are you all right? Y-you ain't dead, are ya? Say somethin'!"

Arthur swallowed again, his throat constricting as he did so, and he wondered why he felt such a strong surge of guilt wash over him for worrying the boy... "G-get off of me," he gasped, inwardly cursing himself for not shouting or snapping and instead sounding more frantic than anything.

Thankfully, the brat was too oblivious to notice. He hastily scuttled away, hovering above Arthur for a brief moment before jumping to his feet. "Sorry!" he shouted quickly, and the Brit tried to loosen his overwrought muscles. "Here, lemme help..." he began, about to hold out his hand, but the smaller blond swiftly stood by himself, staggering back to pin himself to the wall when he saw the hand. His eyes flickered up to bewildered and shocked azure ones, and he instantly looked away.

His Converse trainers were now more interesting than they ever had been before, he thought as they stood in a very tense and very silent atmosphere. He could feel his tight fists shaking, and he only hoped the younger boy wouldn't notice. His pride was too strong for that.

His musings were cut short when his badge-covered black back was shoved into his range of sight. On instinct, his hands flew out to grab it and he speedily hugged it to his chest. With a chilling glare directed at the floor, he nodded stiffly, slung his bag over his shoulder, and turned to walk off, his trainers squeaking horrendously against the tiles.

"Hey! Wait!"

"Fuck off," he muttered under his breath, still not trusting his voice. He dug his nails into the strap over his shoulder and stared determinedly at the floor, tensing up more when he heard another pair of sneakers scuffing against the floor. His body jumped slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned around sharply, effectively knocking the (now so big) hand off. "What are you doing?" he shouted angrily, crouching slightly as if ready to fight again.

The American prat frowned, his stupid blue eyes scanning Arthur as if he were some kind of lab specimen. The English boy only just managed to repress another growl, but he couldn't stop himself from clenching his fists even tighter so that his nails dug into his skin. "You saved me," the taller boy finally settled on saying, his tone almost a reluctant whisper. His eyes were moving swiftly, seemingly analysing the Brit's face. Arthur glared daggers but had to avert his gaze.

"Whatever," he said, turning his head to stare at a random wall. A very disgustingly off-white wall. He scowled at it. "You would've done the same for me."

"Exactly!" The declaration surprised both of them, and Arthur glanced back sharply at the American in astonishment whilst aforementioned American looked away embarrassedly, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "I mean," he murmured, "It's just..." He looked up, gaze now determined and sparkling with resolve. _Stupid..._ "A hero can't be in debt to someone, y'know?"

Arthur blinked once, uncomprehending. Twice. Thrice. He glowered witheringly, shoulders slumping from their tense hold and instead he just looked tired. "Don't patronise me," he threatened dryly, and then flipped his currently black fringe out of his eye as he turned around. "You don't owe me anything, Mr. _Hero_," he sneered, letting out a distasteful snort as he began walking down another hallway even though his next class was in the opposite direction.

"E-eh...? What? B-but I--"

"If you really want to do me a favour," Arthur muttered monotonously, quickly cutting off whatever pathetic retort the idiot was about to make. "Then stay away from me."

Dumbfounded and perplexed, the American boy just watched curiously as the Brit walked steadily away from him, his footsteps slowly fading into silence.

_"Alfred!"_

He blinked, eyes widening in realisation. _W-wait a second... How the hell did that kid know my name...?_

**O-o-O-o-O**

"Ah! So, you found your bag then," Michelle stated, letting out a huge sigh of relief as a cheerful grin overtook her face. "That's good. I'm glad. So," she said, tilting her head and frowning. "Did that guy actually try to steal it?" She gasped before Arthur could reply. "You didn't get into a fight, did you? Arthur, last time that happened--"

"I didn't get into a fight," he muttered wearily, massaging his temple with his free hand and clutching the strap of his bag with the other. "It was just a... misunderstanding," he explained, spitting out the last word as if it were poisonous.

"Oh," the tanned girl replied, sounding disbelieving. She leaned closer and raised a brow. "So, what happened then?" she asked, forehead pressed right against her friend's as she stared right into his wide emerald eyes. "It's been said you'd stormed into class twenty five minutes late cursing up a storm."

The Brit's eyes widened further before his impressively thick brows furrowed in anger. "Who did you hear this from?" he demanded, adopting a haughty tone as he folded his arms imperiously.

Michelle hesistated for a moment before drawing away from her friend's face and sitting back against the tree they were leaning against. "Francis," she admitted, tone absolutely carefree. Too carefree, in Arthur's opinion.

He sputtered irately, cheeks tinging pink as he scowled. "I got a bloody fucking _detention _for that as well," he grumbled moodily, looking a lot like a sulking child. "I've got to stay for an hour after school. What a fucking piss take..." He trailed off, as if Michelle's words had only just sunk in, and he turned to her, looking betrayed. "Wait... You... you _believed _him? Believed _him_? _Him_?"

"Normally, I wouldn't," she offered, hoping to douse the English boy's infamous temper, but to no avail. She sighed and slumped against the tree, lips puckered into a pout. "But it was so believable!" Taking on a French accent and attempting to deepen her voice, she loomed over Arthur and grinned a perverse grin as she said, "Oh, Artzur came strrolling into ze classroom, cursing in ees orreeble Engleesh language!" She gasped dramatically, putting a hand on her forehead as she withered to the ground, looking tormented. Arthur pursed his lips, trying to look annoyed when he was stifling a giggle at his friend's antics. "With ees big, bushy eyebrows glaring at us all - ah! My beautiful emotioons just came flowing out into manly rivers of tears--"

"You can stop now," Arthur gasped out, biting his lip hard to hold back a boisterous laugh.

Michelle sat up, beaming impishly and cackling to herself. She sat on her grass-stained knees and poked her friend's cheeks, unperturbed when the boy's semi-amused expression gave way to an irritated one. "Aww, Artie! You should seriously smile more often," she ordered sternly, but her eyes were gentle. Arthur blinked, frowning deeply in confusion. "You moron," she murmured with a sigh, still smiling, "I don't like it when you're sad."

Green eyes flew open wide and he froze, staring in disbelief at her jovial grin, all traces of anguish vanished. "I..." he began, but didn't know what he could say. He looked down at the grass, feeling his face warm up considerably. "D-don't be stupid," he finally whispered, and then cleared his throat, shaking his head of any treacherous thoughts. He shifted suddenly, moving to go through his bag.

Michelle cocked a brow, but yelped and flung herself backwards when something was shoved in her face. "E-eh...?" she began, laughing nervously. "You aren't trying to kill me, are you?" she enquired worriedly.

"Don't be stupid," he repeated, blush deepening as he thrust a small red bag at her again. "Take them. I don't want them. They're full of sugar," he stammered, eyes closed, brows furrowed and his nose turned up. But his _better-than-thou_ act was easily eroded away when Michelle caught sight of his crimson face.

Trying to restrain a giggle, she grabbed the bag and tore it open, only to leer perversely once again and straddle her friend's lap. "Arthurrr," she chanted, smirking when the Brit's green eyes snapped open and his blush deepened even more. "I know the red ones are your favourites," she declared, grinning like a Cheshire cat as she waved a red skittle in front of her embarrassed friend's face. "So, just say, '_Please give me a sweet, sister_,' and you can have one!" She beamed proudly, clueless of how the vein in her friend's forehead began throbbing more and more throughout her tirade.

"Michelle... You're just like that stupid fucking _frog_!"

**O-o-O-o-O**

"Y-you bastard," Michelle gasped, laughing giddily as she collapsed back onto the grass, her friend accompanying her as they collapsed into a panting, giggling mess. "You can't hit a girl!" she finally declared, tears of mirth in her eyes as she grinned at Arthur, who allowed himself a grin in response.

"You're a girl?" he joked, pretending to sound shocked and appalled, and earned a smack for his efforts. They both chuckled and let out a sigh at the same time, staring through the leaves of the tree at the unexpected sunshine peaking through the masses of disippating grey clouds.

"Oh, yeah," Michelle suddenly piped up, popping herself up on her elbow to beam down at her friend, who blinked up at her lethargically. "I was telling you about the poster," she explained at his vacant expression.

"Oh," he replied. "Right." Sighing, he folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the clouds, humming a random tune quietly. "Go ahead."

"You won't be so nonchalant when I tell you," she murmured with a childish pout, before it dissolved into excitement. "It's about a competition!" she enthused.

Silence.

"Oh."

More silence.

She'd obviously been expecting more of a reaction.

"Ugh! Don't you understand, Art?" she whined, flopping back down on the grass and glowering at her lost cause of a best friend, who mimicked her scowl. "It's a _filmmaking_ competition!" she declared in exasperation, rolling her eyes skyward.

Arthur sucked in a breath, shooting up into a stiff sitting position immediately. The green eye that wasn't covered by his long black fringe was wide, and by his gaping mouth and sparkling eyes he was evidently attempting to hold back signs of excitement. Michelle knew him all too well though. "F-filmmaking?" he whispered, awe in his tone.

Michelle pursed her lips, grinning evilly. _He's so cute when he's surprised! _she thought. _Ah... I can't believe he's older than me! He's like a little brother!_ "Yeah," she said quickly when she noticed her 'little brother's' excitement dissolving into suspicion. "You could so easily win, Art!" she exclaimed, and she meant it. She knew that her friend was exceptionally talented when it came to this. She grabbed her friend by the shoulders and sent him a stoney glare. "You can't pass this chance up, Arthur," she said strongly, and then her intimidating, demanding tone transformed into a bright, cheery one again. "It has no boundaries! Well, obviously within reason. I mean, you can't film a porno or a really gorey film that'll make people wanna throw up or--"

"Obviously!" the blond snapped, enthralled expression moulding into aggravation as he slapped Michelle's hands away from him. "You know I don't put that kind of stuff into my work," he muttered, a blush dusting his cheeks.

Michelle grinned sheepishly. "All right, all right, I'm sorry, okay?" she said, laughing softly when she received a 'you're forgiven' scowl and sniff. "So, anyways... yeah, the deadline is the end of this month, so--"

"Th-the end of this month?" Arthur squeaked, before coughing into a fist and fixing her with a scowl. "I can't..."

"Sure, you can!" the girl from Seychelles exclaimed strongly, glaring into his eyes determinedly. "You've gotta go for it, Art! It could be your big break, and I know you'll be great at it!" she cried, inwardly cheering at the hesitant expression on her friend's face. She was getting through to him! "Come ooon, Artie! You'll do good for sure!"

Arthur took a long, deep breath, and then exhaled slowly, before looking up and bestowing his friend with a weary smile. "It's _well_, not _good_."

**O-o-O-o-O**

_**Axis Powers Hetalia **_**belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**Hello, dear readers! :)**

**This chapter was going to be a lot longer, but I'm afraid I had to cut it short. I'll make up for it with the next chapter hopefully, although I'm also working on **_**Tengoku ni Ochiru**_**, **_**To The Stars **_**and **_**The Thing That Should Not Be**_**, so... Oh, cor blimey... I once again question my sanity in regards to all the fics I'm attempting to accomplish at once. Well, whatever. Sorry for the lack of USxUK, but there will definitely be a lot of it later on! Although Arthur's obviously very bitter right now... Please bear with it! It will be explained more later, as well as the strange flashbacks... However, if you do desperately want **_**something**_**... then, I found this beautiful AMV and thought it related to this somewhat, so please watch it if you have the time: **_**http: // www . youtube . com / watch?v = FhU5RtWIPSw**_**  
Just copy and paste it. Remember to remove the spaces. So bloody incon-fucking-venient. Anyway...**

**I'm not entirely sure what all the pairings in this will be, first off, but I do have a vague idea. Unfortunately, there are lots of love triangles. Or squares. Or hexagons. Okay, not hexagons. In any case, I shall not yet post the pairings as I wish to keep a hint of suspense, although you all obviously know that this is USxUK... b-but even so... Um... Yes. Well, I'm kind of torn with one thing though... and that's France. Bloody frog, always complicating things... Okay, I don't know if he should be with Seychelles (Michelle) or Canada. If he's paired with Seychelles, What's-His-Name will be with Ukraine probably. Or Prussia, depends how it goes. So, how's about you guys vote? Because I don't know. All I know is that this is USxUK with a side serving of up-coming major angst. Mmm, angst...**

**In any case, I would like to warn you about the angst in this fic after saying that. If you want a **_**SPOILER**_**, then this will most likely end up happy, but throughout the duration it'll be pretty damn depressing most likely. Stock up on tissues and happy pills... lol. I don't want to make you guys too sad, though, and so... um... I-I don't know... I'll... um... ah... I don't know what to offer as a consolation... Um. Well. Th-thank you for reading! ^///^;**


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